


Neither Side of the Coin

by daroh



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Gen, missing scene?, riddle filled, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 22:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4322598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daroh/pseuds/daroh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A possible missing scene from the show: The dragon calls Morgana down to his cell for a chat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neither Side of the Coin

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Tavern Tales theme, Games, Ruses, & Rides

Some nights it just sounded like a faint moan or a rumble. Compared to the horrifying nightmares that woke her up gasping or screaming, hearing distant rumblings seemed like a fairly minor complaint. She had never even thought to mention them to Gaius—not that it would’ve mattered. He'd have just given her a potion to dull her hearing.  
  
But lately the moan had begun to take shape. It was forming words—or one word, rather—but drawn out in an endless breath: _Morgaaanaa_.  
  
Someone was calling to her in a deep baritone, a pitch so low it seemed not to echo but to groan its way up to her from within the bowels of the castle.   
  
The voice wasn't pleading, as though calling for help, or even friendly or lonely. It sounded her name like a taunt or a threat, which frightened her enough that she knew she had to investigate, and do so on her own.   
  
After all, it had been clear that Merlin was through with helping her after their trip to the druids had ended in such devastation, and Gaius would always only condescend to her worries and try to drug them away. Arthur had once been a confidante of sorts, but any hint of her having magic—even just magical hearing—would have Arthur turning her over to Uther in shackles ( _maybe_ —she still hoped he might love her enough to spare her that), so her taunter was for her to face alone. It was all right, though. She knew she had strengths, power somewhere inside her, and maybe following the voice would be an enlightening step, not just a brave or stupid one.  
  
On the third night after hearing it say her name, she lay awake long after dark, waiting to be sure the castle was quiet. When all seem to have settled in for the night, the call came, stronger than ever.   
  
_Morgaaanaaa, Lady Morgana..._  
  
A proper title this time. She wrestled with what it could mean for a moment, then decided it didn’t matter. Her quest was the same. In fact, despite the deferential words, the voice still had its dark, teasing edge. She put a cloak on over her nightdress and slipped out of her chambers, determined that nothing would stop her from confronting whoever it was that kept calling her in the dead of night.   
  
She hurried quietly down the castle’s corridors, focusing her breathing and her mind, partly to combat the cold, partly to avoid notice, but mostly to steel herself for whatever was to come. This could be a fateful night, she knew, and she was ready for one—or at least she wanted to be.   
  
_Morgaaanaaa_ , she heard, climbing its way towards her. _Morgana the_ Witch…  
  
The disdain in the voice was unmistakable, and what it called her, dangerous, terrifying. She was hardly a witch. She didn’t even know what her nightmares meant, let alone how to create fire by choice rather than unconscious instinct. _Witch_. She had never called herself that, and neither had the druids. It was an ugly word. _Magic_ on the other hand, had beauty, mystery, it existed outside of any person. Magic was itself an entity, and it felt comforting to her now, hope-giving, even, to think of herself as some small part of magic’s sphere. But a _witch_. A witch was a person, a woman, doubly damned, therefore, and loathed. She shuddered at the label and walked faster.   
  
_Morgaaanaaa...._  
  
How no one else was hearing this taunting bellow (for it was a bellow, she discovered, the further she descended) was baffling, especially in the lower parts of the castle. Her frustration helped her march through the prison cells of the dungeons, as if this were exactly her charge, and oddly, no one questioned it.   
  
Once past the holding chambers, the dungeon seemed to end, but she knew it to extend further. She searched the walls with her torchlight, and sure enough, her perseverance was rewarded. There was a small opening that could accommodate a single adventurer, and she crouched through the crevice onto a dirt path that could be followed for some distance.

The path ended at a long staircase that lead down deeper than Morgana ever imagined the castle’s roots could go. She could feel magic emanating from whatever was at the bottom, too powerful to assess. The echoes of her footsteps had been growing louder, telling her she was about to enter a vast cavern that surely held something dangerous. (This was part of the dungeons, after all.)   
  
As she stood considering what might greet her at the bottom of the stairs, she heard a quiet chuckle in the same low voice that had been haunting her, and she hurried down to face it.   
  
Her momentum kept her going right to the edge—and almost over—the rocky ledge that looked out into the abyss that stretched further than she could see.   
  
The voice faded and gave way to a much eerier sound: the whoosh of giant wings beating slowly across the expanse of the cave. As a huge creature fluttered down towards her, gusts of air sent her further back on the precipice.   
  
When the creature settled opposite her, Morgana stood in breathless awe of the massive, mythic beast—a _dragon!_ , for that’s what it was—a magical creature she’d thought only existed in legend.   
  
She drew a breath to speak, but the sound of it echoed as a gasp. The beast, in turn, made a slight bow of its head, which towered high above her on a long, sinuous neck.  
  
Morgana craned her own neck to see the monster at its height. “ _You_ ,” she whispered with some surprise.  
  
The dragon looked at her with vague amusement and patience, not unlike Gaius might, she thought.   
  
“Yes, it is I,” it said. “Do you recognize me?”  
  
“S-sort of,” she responded, her lip trembling. “I’ve seen you—your form at least, maybe your kind—in my dreams.”  
  
“Your dreams or your nightmares, Lady Morgana, for with you the two are neither what they seem nor mirrors of each other.”  
  
Morgana’s brow furrowed. To tell the truth, she had seen the massive beast in her nightmares, but she didn’t think that was the best way to begin the conversation—or continue it, if conversation this riddling could be called. The beast clearly meant to confuse her with his speech.   
  
“Who are you?” she asked instead.  
  
“Ah, that is the question we each want to ask. For who are you, Morgana, and who will you be? The lady or the witch?”  
  
“What do you mean?” Her voice was more steady, now that she was in the familiar position of defending herself. “I am the lady Morgana as you well know, and as you have called me. Why do you also call me witch?”  
  
“It would be best that you not be a witch, but you are no lady neither, though maybe more than either.”  
  
The dragon spoke slowly, as if to a child, and sat rather smugly while his listener chased the words for some semblance of meaning. The habit was already frustrating, but there was also great knowledge behind such talk. Still, to be made a fool of was not Morgana's intention.   
  
“Have you called me here merely to spew nonsense and riddles? Had I known I was coming to meet a dragon, I would have expected ferocity or kindness, but not this taunting.”  
  
She felt taller as she spoke, finding her way in relation to this riddling mass.   
  
“I speak naught but the truth, my lady, and I am here to help.”  
  
“Very well, then; speak! What do you wish to tell me? How can you help me?”  
  
“You have magic.”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“It scares you.”  
  
Morgana knew never to respond to statements like this. She waited for him to continue.  
  
“It also excites you, as it should. Look at me, after all. Magic is the very pulsing of the earth, the wonder and gift of nature, and it is very, very powerful. But how will you hone it? Who will teach you? What if Uther finds out? You can see there is plenty of room for you down here, too.” The dragon nodded his chin at the abyss that was his cell.   
  
“Uther keeps you here!,” she responded, more to herself than him. “Of course. He is cruel and unjust.” There was more pity in her voice now than there had been.   
  
“You need not tell me.”  
  
“But you are right—he would kill me, and I have no one in Camelot to help me. Is that why you called me here? To help me learn magic? To help me train as a sorceress?”  
  
“A witch, you mean, for a witch you would be.”

“Why do you say that? And why call me that? I don’t even know a single spell!”  
  
“But when you know one, you will know many, and those many will be the ones of a witch, have no doubt.”  
  
“What is the difference, then? Between a sorceress and a witch?”  
  
“Can you not hear it yourself?” he asked pedantically.   
  
The dragon’s head tilted up as he shook with laughter that grew into a roar. “Sorceress” he said lightly through his chuckles, “or _witch!_ ” he snarled, his neck snapping his enormous head right in front of hers.  
  
Morgana rolled her shoulders back, pushing a ring of hair away from her face, not yielding an inch. “So they are merely words, then. One you choose to use kindly, and one cruelly. If which term is used is just a matter of opinion, I’ll worry over it no longer.”  
  
The dragon withdrew to a less combative position and sighed. “So be it,” he said with some defeat. “But the fact remains that you are alone to choose your path.”  
  
“So you will not help me, then.”   
  
“No, I will not.”  
  
The immediate denial seemed brutish, premeditated, even.  
  
“Why alert me to your presence, call out to me, make me come to you, all so you could deny me even a word of help? What twisted cruelty is that, dragon? It seems you are fitting your own definition of ‘witch.’”  
  
Again, the dragon laughed. He was easily amused, she thought, or perhaps a little crazy.   
  
“Cruel, maybe, but it is my duty to dissuade you from becoming a witch. The task has sadly fallen to me.”  
  
“And why is that? Who was supposed to dissuade me first?”  
  
“The answer to everything you’ve asked, Morgana, is the same, so listen very carefully." He paused for effect, rather unnecessarily, she thought.   
  
Finally, he continued: "There is a coin, and it has two sides, and you are neither of them.”  
  
Morgana could appreciate figurative language, and she desperately wanted to know what this dragon knew about her. She struggled to find practical meaning in his metaphor.  
  
“Am I the edge, then? The middle ground that could teeter one way or the other, lady or witch?”  
  
“Ah, you are quick, my lady, but unfortunately wrong. The truth is that you are nowhere on this coin.”  
  
“So I’m on another coin?”  
  
“No. There is only one coin.”  
  
“Are you saying I fit nowhere then, as lady or witch? I have to say this was not the kind of news I was hoping to gain this night.”  
  
“Not nowhere, but nowhere here, certainly.”  
  
“So you're saying I should flee Camelot?”  
  
“No, that would be the worst thing. You mustn’t flee.”  
  
Morgana weighed what options were left. “Should I collect coins, then?” she snickered.  
  
The dragon shook with mirth at her joke.   
  
“Well, come on!” she yelled, frustrated. “Tell me something useful, you enormous sack of old bones!”  
  
“Who’s calling who names now?” the dragon asked. He reeled back, then let loose a tremendous assault of fire all around her, up into the highest reaches of the cave and over the walls on all sides of them. Morgana protected her face from the heat with her cloak and waited for the roaring flames to end. Her own anger matched that of the dragon, and she didn’t need an elaborate display to show it.  
  
“ _You_ are the monster, dragon. And not your kind, _you!_ I had no wish to pursue witchcraft while living under Uther’s roof, but clearly I’m in more need of it here than I thought. This is the last time you will call me here or see me, and you will never know the value of my loyalty and friendship. I would have fought for you, dragon, freed you, even, somehow, but instead you mock me, deny me all help, and even taunt me with fire and riddles. You’ve had your chance with me, and it’s done. It’s a shame, too. I could love a magical creature, but you are not the only one there is.”  
  
“Hold your tongue, witch! I am indeed the last of my kind, and I—”  
  
“Lies! I have seen another myself, but not in my nightmares. You hold your tongue forever to me.”  
  
She turned to leave, but the dragon called to her, more pleading in his voice than she’d heard yet. “Morgana?” Knowing this really would be the last time she spoke to him, she waited for him to say more. 

“If you have seen it, I will believe it, but until now I thought myself the last of my kind. Where did you see this other dragon?”  
  
“Ah,” she said, turning back to him with a smirk. “And now I seem to be the one who knows something. Let’s see, where do I see it?" She asked mockingly.   
  
She paused dramatically, tensing her form with parted lips and wide eyes. She flashed her hands in front of her as if a vision there appeared. "Yes! I see it on a loaf of bread, but the loaf only has one slice, and you are not it—but maybe you're the heel.”  
  
Smoke coiled out of the dragon’s snout as he sighed, knowing he deserved such ridicule.  
  
“Morgana, you are a more worthy friend and adversary than either the head or the tail that I am chained to. I wish I could tell you more, but I cannot.”  
  
There was an earnestness, a humility, even, in the dragon’s demeanor that convinced her he was telling the truth.   
  
“Thank you, dragon, whatever that may mean. If you are condemned to speak in riddles, I suppose I pity you more than I thought, but those riddles cannot help me, and I’m going.”  
  
“Let me try, my lady! I must know of this other dragon of which you speak!”  
  
Morgana considered it. She had seen a small, fledgling thing curled up with her in her dreams. It made her feel warm—a little—and she always liked when it showed up. She had assumed it was a symbol of something, not an actual newborn dragon.  
  
“Very well. Try me again. Leave the coins out of it.”  
  
The dragon bowed to her, more slowly and deeply than before. “My lady, the problem is that there is only the coin. But let me try: The coin...is the key. And the key cannot be unturned. It has already been set in motion.”  
  
“Now you’re just getting sloppy.”  
  
“No, it is a fact: The coin is the key that is the wheel that has been set in motion. You are not a spoke on that wheel nor its circumference, but its revolutions are driven by you.”  
  
“So I’m the one in control. That doesn’t sound so bad.”  
  
“Sometimes, in a way, as all wheels are wont to roll one way or another, depending on the forces that control man.”  
  
“So men are always at the whim of something else, but women can be _in_ control. I have always believed that. I know it to be true. I must make my own alliance, my own coin, then, with a woman.”  
  
The dragon realized Morgana was gleaning more from his nonsense than he ever meant her to. In fact, he had meant to confound her, make her feel intimidated, perhaps scare her into not pursuing magic. He tried to salvage his speech with a cryptic and foreboding pronouncement: “Be careful, these words convey meaning in ways different than you think.”   
  
He knew such a weak addendum would not impact the cleverly determined woman, and he cursed himself for having underestimated her. Instead of dissuading her from magic, he had sent her headlong into Morgause’s arms. He’d have to tell Merlin not to be such a coward next time he had a chance to snuff her power out. Of course, if the Great Dragon himself could be outwitted by her, what chance did a clumsy, disobedient serving boy stand against her? He sighed yet again.

"You seem troubled, dragon, but you have given me confidence in what I must do, and I’m grateful. I will return the favor with a word about your kin.”  
  
Her lips tightened as she considered the dragon, eyeing him up and down.   
  
She turned her gaze to the vastness of the cave they stood in, as if remembering something about that very space, or one very similar. She then leveled her eyes at her opponent. “There is a prisoner in a cavern, but maybe it’s really two. They are one and the same, but only the one grew.”   
  
The look of worry and confusion that swept across the dragon’s face was a small victory, Morgana felt, knowing her riddle to be far more befuddling than any of his, and she whisked herself towards the stairs, her velvet cape flowing behind her.   
  
“ _Witch!_ ” the dragon yelled, furious at how she’d beaten him at his own game. She was certainly right when she said he’d never call to her again.   
  
Morgana slipped back up to her rooms for the night, happy and comforted by the knowledge that she would seek out a sorceress, for it was clear that only women were her true kin, and only women with magic could really help her.   
  
That night, she dreamt of being nuzzled by a small, fond dragon, and she knew she was headed in the right direction.  
  
— _Fin_ — 


End file.
